


Already Waited Too Long

by ems



Category: History Boys (2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2011-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ems/pseuds/ems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scripps is fed up of watching Dakin from the edge of the dancefloor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Already Waited Too Long

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Alas, I don't own any of The History Boys. If I did, Scripps would be playing the piano for me right now. With his forearms on show.  
>  **Author's Notes:** Written for shelikeswaves who prompted Dakin/Scripps -- How Soon Is Now?

Scripps doesn't hold out much hope for these things, really. He leans against walls in darkened rooms and nurses a pint -- or sometimes a whiskey, if he's feeling particularly tragic and interesting -- and watches Dakin work his magic on some blonde. Or brunette. Or redhead. Or, on that one occasion, that guy with the shaved head. He stands and he watches and in his head he writes the diary entries he'd never dare to put down on paper. The ones that say things like _he's not even that good looking_ and _he's got odd eyes_ and _last night I fell asleep in the middle of praying because I couldn't stop thinking about them and it hurts to ache like that and not do something about it and God, is this normal, is this what it's meant to be like, because if it is, I think You've made a mistake somewhere along the line because this isn't good and pure and lovely, it just hurts, how it hurts..._

"The only education worth having," he murmurs softly, and the girl hovering a few feet away from him smiles, starts as if about to make conversation, and fuck, he hates this. Hates it. He's too hot and he's overdressed in his shirtsleeves, and he's got church in the morning, and Dakin's jeans are stupidly tight and _fuck_ , if he drinks much more he's going to have to sleep with his hands pinned behind his back, or something.

"Don. Don." A voice interupts him, and of course, it's Dakin, and he's thrusting his leather jacket into Scripps' hand. "Can you hold this? I'm fucking boiling, and I think she prefers me with my jacket off, if you know what I'm saying."

His smirk is familiar and painful and it makes Scripps ache with irritation and envy and something else that Scripps can't quite bring himself to name.

"Fuck off, Stu. I'm not a sodding coat rack."

Dakin blinks; shakes his head as if to dispel a thought. Then he chuckles. "You're getting about as much action as one, though, standing there like a lemon."

Scripps has had it, just had it, and he snaps back, "You are such a giant _twat_ , Dakin. And you can just fuck off back to your... flavour of the week," he continues, nodding his head in the direction of the blonde on the dancefloor waiting patiently for Dakin to return. "I'm going home."

It's to his credit, he thinks, that he makes it all the way outside without turning to look back, but as the cold air hits him, his mind is full of how Dakin might've looked -- betrayed or amused or puzzled or -- oh God, please no -- _triumphant_. He wants to crawl home and crawl into bed and even as he's pushing his way through the crowd to the quiet side streets, he's imagining what he's going to write in his diary when he gets home, which curse word most eloquently and succinctly sums up his feelings right now.

But then there's a hand on his shoulder, and a "Don-- wait-- why--", and it's Dakin, Dakin whose too-big eyes are full of utterly unfamiliar concern; Dakin, whose mouth is full and shaped like the question Scripps never asks; Dakin, whose hands are on Scripps' shoulders, his neck, and Scripps thinks _Sod it, sod it--_

He's waited too long--

\--and then somehow Dakin's backed up against the wall and his mouth is under Scripps', and he tastes like smoke and alcohol and the faint tang of copper--

\--and his hands are on Scripps' jaw, the back of his neck, and Scripps pushes his fingers through Dakin's hair, clutches at it--

\--and then Dakin's pulling away and already Scripps' brain is frantic, panicked, he's fucked it up, fucked it all up--

\--but Dakin is smiling, smiling? Yeah, he's smiling, and he says, right up against Scripps' mouth, he says, "Jesus, Don. What the fuck have you been waiting for?"


End file.
